


Message

by Venstar



Series: A Collection of Sorts [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Skyfall, M/M, alternate meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 10:50:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13785915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venstar/pseuds/Venstar
Summary: Among his other duties, the new Q has been asked to find something...and deliver a message.





	Message

**Author's Note:**

> i'm working on a butt-load of WIPs I have and turning them into short stories 5-8k. This is the first in that series. They don't connect except for the fact that they're in my WIPs. beta'd by @linorien and @opalescentgold.

He was never meant to be a true field operative, more comfortable behind a computer than he’d ever been behind a gun.  He’d found a home at MI6 as a lowly minion in Q-branch following his recruitment, following...a highly illegal situation he found himself in as a college student, wearing nothing but his pajamas and holding a cup of earl grey.  It turned out that he was a quick study, and he often surpassed the skill levels of many of the other minions.  

It wasn’t that they were stupid, far from it. It was just that they were slow and didn’t see the whole picture quite like he could.  He spent his time pulling agent after agent out of numerous near-death experiences in the field, and out of the field.  He quickly went from lowly minion to second-in-command.  Finally, he assumed the duties of the Quartermaster after a tragic explosion rocked MI6 to its foundation.    
  
_Agent down._

Q stood on a precipice.  Never before had a Quartermaster been asked to leave the hallowed halls of MI6 to retrieve...a body.  

_Agent down._

Two words that had sent MI6 into a tailspin.  Words uttered by a female.  Fitting, Q thought, judging by the many, many hearts and womanly figures left in various states of damage, it was only fitting that a woman had finally brought him down.  

Q’s eyes closed briefly. That was unfair, he thought to himself.  Unfair, but it had a sort of poetic justice about it.  Find or rescue James ‘Bloody’ Bond.  For a long time, Q had thought it was a quaint nickname.  He had soon been disabused of that notion.  

To say that James ‘Bloody’ Bond was just a thoughtless thug in a suit would be a grievous error in judgement.  Bloody, yes.  Efficient, yes.  Scary as all fuck?  Absofuckingloutely.  Thuggish?  Q’s lips tipped up at the corner. Only if he meant to present himself in that way.

_Find him at all costs._

Five words that might mean Q’s job or life.  At this point, he was having a hard time deciding which was more important.   

 

* * *

 

Q was pulled into M’s office and ‘given’ a new assignment.  “Why not a proper field agent?”  he had to ask, despite knowing that questioning M’s orders wasn't always appreciated.

“He can smell another agent at a thousand paces.  Hopefully, if he is alive he won't smell you.”  M’s eyes flicked briskly up to meet his gaze.  “You’ve been with us long enough to know your way around a dark corner or two, and I’ve seen you in the firing ranges when you think no one’s looking.  I know you flub your marksmanship scores.”  

Q had sputtered at M’s accusations.  “I do not - ”

“Yes, you do. You flub them purposefully.  I’d have said something sooner, but I agree with you.  It’s smarter to be underestimated.  Bond knew that and he used it to his advantage always.  Let’s hope you’re just as smart.”  

Q had grimaced.  “This is highly unorthodox.”

“007 lives in an unorthodox world.  His methods are unorthodox and generally unfailing.”

Q had just stared at her.

“Generally.”  The word had come out swift and economic.  “You’ll do.  I wouldn’t have asked you to do it if I didn’t think you’re capable.

“Asked,” Q had grumbled to the floor.

“If I wanted to hear people talk behind my back, I’d go to parliament,” M had said sternly as she narrowed her eyes and stared at Q.

“Yes, ma’am,” Q had said softly.  “Who should I take with me on this game of hide and seek, or do you have a team ready for me to lead?”  Q had shuddered as M gave a slow, evil grin that lit her eyes with something akin to unholy glee.  He’d closed his eyes and waited for whatever it was she was about to divulge.

“You won’t be leading the team.  You’ll depart at 0500 to meet Goodwin, the agent in charge and the rest of your team at this airfield.”  She’d held up a black folder for him to take.

Paper.  Q sighed as he had taken the folder.  Why did MI6 continue to rely on paper when they had all these lovely things called emails.  He had personally and lovingly been involved in the restructuring of MI6’s cyber security systems from the ground up...and yet here he was, with paper.

“You’ll fly out to his last known location and from there you’ll be part of a team lead by Goodwin.  A field agent with years and years and years of experience.”  M had smiled her evil little smile again.

Exasperated, Q lowered the folder to his side, without having looked in it.  “What have you done?”

“Well, I can’t send my Quartermaster out into the field with a juvenile set of minions in tow now, can I?”  M had shrugged innocently.

“They’re functioning adults!”  Q had argued, as he waved the folder around.  “Mostly.”

“I also can’t announce that I’m sending the Quartermaster of MI6 into the field either, can I?”  M’s voice had held a little more iron in it as she tried to hammer sense into Q.

“No,”  Q had said.  He slouched like a disappointed juvenile delinquent.  Which to be honest, wasn’t too far from the truth.  He opened the folder again and belligerently scanned the primitive paperwork.  “No,”  He had said, as he snapped the folder shut.  “Absolutely not.”

“Oh yes.  You’ll be escorted by this team of agents as you find and locate Bond.  Find and locate only.”

“Not bring him back?”

“Bond doesn’t take kindly to leashes.  I want eyes on my agent.  I want to know if he’s dead or alive.  After that, I’ll decide what to do with him.  Your team won’t know who or what you are.  All they know is that you’re some rookie agent with a track record for cyber stalking.  You’re the best we could do at last minute.  They’ll be thrilled to have you.”

Q made some sort of inarticulate sound at M’s summation.  “The best you could do at the last minute!  How...why...I would never send someone as inefficient and inexperienced as...as-” Q had pointed to the paper that held his undercover specs, “as you have me look on paper!  M, this is madness!”

“No, Q.  It’s psychology.”  M had given him a brisk look, up and down.  “I know all my agents.  Their strengths and their weaknesses.”

Q’s eyes had narrowed a bit on M as her words sunk in.  He mouthed the word ‘psychology.’  He hit his head with the folder.  “Of course.  Of course.”  

“Exactly.  I always thought Bond was a rather interesting mix of Don Quixote or White Knight syndrome.  Either way, your perceived weakness will be enough to draw Bond’s attention.  Draw him in and then leave.”

Q had snorted and pushed his glasses up his nose.  “It’ll either draw his lethal attention or his lothario attention.  Excellent.”

“If you have a preference for which type of attention you receive,” M had said, “I suggest you play to those weaknesses.  An agent worth his salt will use any and every means at their disposal to complete their mission.  Dig up some of that past you have so much of Q, and put it to use.”

“This team is going to hate me,” Q had said, as he waved the folder emphatically in front of him.  “You’ve set it up that way on purpose.”

M hadn’t argued.  In her straightforward manner, she had said.  “Any and every means, Q.”

Q had huffed a sound out reminiscent of a growl.  “I’m going to be seen as either some flimsy fool who trips all over his feet, or some god forsaken milksop of a fawning boy who’s never seen the inside of an-”

“That will be all, Q.”  M had said, halting his last words.  “Oh, and when you do find Bond, which I suspect you will.  Tell him to get his arse back, now.”

Which meant here he was, far from Q branch trying to locate a double-oh.  According to everyone else, that double-oh was presumed dead, his obituary had been printed in stark black and white.  It was probably best that Q thought of his mission as body retrieval.  If 007 were still alive, Q was going to kill him.  Just a little, just enough to make up for the indignity he was currently suffering.  M had written a perfectly good obituary and it shouldn't go to waste.  His dreadful thoughts were interrupted.

“You gonna stand there all day and stare into the horizon?  Good god I can't believe we're stuck out here with a rookie.  Oi, one foot in front of the other, there's a good lad.”  The lead agent, Goodwin snapped his fingers in front of Q’s face.

Q jerked away slightly.  He had nearly snapped the offending fingers off, before he stopped himself.  Q blew out a frustrated sigh through his nose, before he muttered under his breath. “We mustn't break our escort, must we?”  

“What's that?”  Goodwin asked, eyeballing him.

Q put on the most innocent dumbfuck look he could muster, and for the umpteenth time thought ill wishes on both 007 and M.

Goodwin cleared his throat.  “Hello!  Jesus.  Boy, did you say something?”

“Hmm, no,” Q answered.  “Come on my band of brothers, let's go.” He marched off in the direction of Bond’s last known location that he had managed to dig up.  Some dilapidated beach town.  Probably a wretched hive of scum and villainy.  God he hoped so, he really needed to punch someone in the face and this town looked promising.

“I give the orders,” Goodwin said, shooting his hand out and grabbing Q by the shoulder.  He yanked him backwards.

Q gave a little grunt at the rough handling and sighed again.  He waved a hand forward.  “Well by all means, lead us...if you can.”

Goodwin snagged the locator from Q’s hands.

“Hey!”

“Anymore lip from you and I’ll make a report to M.”  Goodwin leaned into Q’s space, his voice harsh and low.  He tried to make the smaller man cower, but Q refused to yield.  He stood his ground and stared back.

“I’d like to read that report,”  Q whispered into Goodwin's face.

Goodwin leaned in further, until they were nose to nose.  “Keep it up and I’ll leave you hog tied in a broom closet, along with a written report to M tattooed on your forehead.  You’ll never be allowed out on a mission again, much less do anything but secretarial work at MI6.  It’ll be a desk job for you when we get out of here, because that’s all you’re capable of handling.  Now move out on my orders and stay behind the men that know what they’re doing.”  Goodwin spun on his heel and with a brisk twitch of his hand, got his men moving.

Q’s eyes narrowed as they followed Goodwin’s path and his fingers twitched.  Soon.  

 

 

* * *

 

It was night and the stars were out in full force.  A warm, soft breeze pushed through the small bar filled with tourists looking for ‘atmosphere’ with the local alcoholics.  It was set right off the beach, bringing with it the smell of the sea.  Q was hunkered down at the smallest table at the edge of the establishment, highlighting his loner status as laughter and rowdy cries rose from the bar as drinking game after drinking game was played.  

Q slammed his umbrella laden, fruity alcoholic beverage down on the small table and folded his himself morosely around it.  Of all the stupid ways to catch a spy, this was one of the worst.  Static crackled to life in the small earwig he was wearing.  

“Come on little fishy, lure him in.”  Goodwin’s tinny voice came rolling into his ear.

“If you’re that desperate for him, next time, you lure him in your own goddamn self!”  Q snarled softly back at Goodwin.  Before he got a response, he subtly scratched at his ear and removed the offending device.  He rose from his table to stand at the edge of the wooden structure of the bar and released the earwig into the sand.  Good riddance.  Goodwin was going to have his head.  Fuck that pompous bastard.

He glanced at the sun faded poster hung on the wall closest to his table.  Yeah, sure he was going to leave his troubles behind, like the laughing tropical girl seemed to suggest.  

Q had a choice.  Either return to his drink and wait for 007 to appear, or leave and commit dastardly deeds against his superiors.  Could one murder their boss?  Was it allowed?  Could he get away with it?  How much money could he safely withdraw from his bank account in order to go into hiding before M caught on?  Q drummed his fingers against his leg as he did quick mental calculations.  Maybe he should retrieve his earwig, it was Q-branch property after all.

“Most people come here to forget about their troubles.”

Q started at being addressed suddenly.  Oh damn.  While he hadn’t seen or heard Bond approach him, he’d heard Bond’s voice enough in the bowels of Q-branch to recognize who was talking to him.  He glanced over his shoulder and saw his target in flesh and blood standing there with a drink in his hand, a few days worth of stubble, and red-rimmed eyes.  Q’s breathing paused, unsure if Bond had identified him as MI6..

“Do they?” Q asked, eventually, once he got his mouth moving. “Seems I came here to find mine.”  Q turned away and stepped down, to push his ear wig further into the white sand, hiding evidence.  The warmth of the day was trapped below the surface of the sand and he sighed as it seeped into his bare feet.  He heard Bond move about behind him.

“Are you leaving?”

“I don’t know,”  Q answered honestly.  Stay or go.  Bond was alive, surely that would be enough for M.

“Would you mind some company while you try to make this life altering decision?”  Bonds voice was soft and curious, unthreatening.  

Q turned halfway around and studied Bond, standing slightly above him.  His body relaxed and eyes politely interested.  Q hadn’t caught his full attention...yet.  Q parried Bonds question with his own question.  “Are you the ‘trouble’ that someone’s trying to forget?”  

Bond grinned and took a sip from his drink, his eyes turning cautiously playful.  “I might be.”

“Will you behave if I allow you to keep me company?”  Q stayed where he was, on the edge of light and shadows, Bond still behind him with the higher vantage point.

Bond lifted his shoulders in a shrug.  “I’m afraid I make it a habit to never behave.”

Q laughed, low and soft.  “Then I might not mind the company.”

“Do you have a name?” Bond asked him, his voice businesslike.  He was making a transaction after all, Q reasoned with himself.

“Not one worth remembering in the morning.”

Bond let out a little huff of laughter.  “Your pickup line needs work.”

“Oh yeah, probably about as much work as yours needs.  Nice approach though.  The wise old mentor making his presence known.”  Q lowered his voice and put a little gravel in it.  “Most people come here to forget about their troubles.”  

That got a true laugh from Bond.  “Touche.”

Q continued with his train of thought.  “Do you come fully equipped as a mentor?  Grey robes, a wizards hat and staff?  You have the beard for it”

“Har, har.  And you?  Are you the hapless hero, the everyman or the innocent type?”  Bond wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.  Little blond caterpillars doing a dance.

“Neither,” Q said, his voice dry and even toned.

“That leaves the Villain then.”

Q shrugged.  “I have been known to topple kingdoms, defeat hordes of goblins, cheat at chess.”

“A super-villain in the making.”

“Quite.”  Q turned until he was fully facing Bond and grinned up at him.  “And what sage advice would you give a budding super-villain?”

Bond set his drink down next to Q’s abandoned umbrella monstrosity and hopped down into the sand to join Q.  He leaned down to whisper into his ear.  Q shuddered at the slight contact with a stubble clad killer.  

“Don’t get caught.”  Bond’s hand moved, until he hooked Q’s pinky with his forefinger.

Q curled his pinky, trapping Bond’s finger.  He whispered back, “is this the part where you say...come with me if you want to live?”

That got another huff of laughter and Q counted it as a win.  “No,” Bond said.  “This is the part where I ask if you want to come back to my place.”

“We could go back to mine.  Where I could entertain you with a villainous monologue.”  Q closed his eyes.  God damn, but he was glad he took his earwig out.  If the guys could hear him now, they’d be making horrible comments about his pick up lines and freaking out about Q even THINKING of bringing Bond back to their location.  Maybe he should have kept his earwig.

Bond took a step back, away from Q, tugging him along with his pinkie.  “My place I think.  You can monologue there...if you can.”

“If I can?  I’ll have you note that I am very loquacious.”  Q said with no little pride as he followed along slightly behind Bond.

“Oh, I think you might have something keeping you quite occupied and quiet.”

Q got quiet as Bonds words sunk in.  “Did you just make a dick joke?”

Bond laughed and kept walking.  “Wait and see.”

 

* * *

 

Q woke up to a very quiet and distracted Bond in the bed.  Q squeezed him around the midsection, hoping to get the unfocused look in Bond’s eyes disappear.  Bond squeezed back and rolled out of Q’s loose grip and sat at the edge of the bed.  Q admired the dimples and peekaboo butt crack for a moment, until Bond rose and headed to the loo.  He came back and ran his hand up and down Q’s exposed skin.  He kissed Q’s shoulder.

“I believe I have a few moments to spare this morning, if you’re up to it.”

Q laughed, but made his excuses to leave masked within appreciative comments.  “As tempting as you are in the daylight, my flight leaves tonight.  Have to pick up something for Mum or I’m on the naughty list.”

“Are you often on the naughty list?”

“You have no idea.”  Q laughed.  He rolled away from Bond and began to dress.  

Bond hmmd at him in response and stayed where he was, lounging like a big house cat on the bed as Q checked for his wallet and mobile.  

“So,” Bond said, as Q opened the door to let himself out.  “I won’t see you again.”

“Who knows.  The world is an awfully small place, as I’ve discovered.”  Q shrugged.

“I’ve heard it’s not enough, to some.”

A sad half-smile flickered to life on Q’s face.  “Good-bye.”

He left, matter of factly after that last exchange and made for the small, cheap and non-descript tourist trap that he and his team were staying at.  Hopefully they hadn’t been stupid enough to search for him last night.  Maybe he should bring them coffee, in hopes to turn their mood.  Maybe not, they were still jackasses.  Q paused as a shop selling trinkets opened.  A carved, fat and angry wooden monkey caught his eye.  It would look fantastic next to M’s miserable looking bulldog.  Q bought it and continued on.

Oh, the lads were definitely not happy.  Having spent the whole night trying to locate Q and not finding him.  Wow, what great sleuths.  Q rolled his eyes as Goodwin started in on him.

“Where the fuck did you go?  We spent all night looking for your scrawny ass you dumbfuck.  Where the fuck is your earwig.  You don’t take it out when on mission.”  Goodwin yanked Q’s shirt to the side, revealing the various love bites along his neck.  His fist tightened.  “Well, you fucked someone last night.  Was it him?  It better have been him, not you abandoning your god damned post for a god damned fuck!”  Goodwin was yelling in his face, spit touched Q’s cheek.  He just turned the other one.

“That’s why you brought me along, wasn’t it?”  Q asked.

“We’re here to find him, not get you laid and lose him!”  Goodwin released Q with a push, disgust in his voice.

Q sat down on the closest bed, slowly and tiredly.  He placed the carved monkey gently on top of his bag holding his gear.  “We didn’t lose him.  I managed to drop a locator in his belongings.  We can monitor him better now, rather than relying on CCTV and eye witnesses.  MI6 can do it’s job of being a world class mother hen.”

“And if he sees you again?”  One of Q’s other team members asked.

“I’m a tourist, trying to forget my troubles.”  Q grinned.  “I told him I was flying out tonight so I think I should pack and get going.  Let M know how long you wish to extend your stay.  You know how she loves paperwork.”

“Why you jumped up little shit!”  Goodwin hissed angrily at Q.

Q yawned and grabbed a handful of clothing from his gear.  “Stop being a dick while I go take a shower.  Check out his locator.  I trust you know how to work a computer.”

Goodwin's facial bones moved in such a way that Q was certain he was going to unhinge his jaw at any moment and swallow him whole.

Q ignored Goodwin and the rest of his teams angry glares as he went to take a long desired shower.  Once done, he ventured out with the clothes from the previous day wadded in his hands, wearing only in a pair of trousers.  Let the team see the love bites and marks from his night with Bond.  They were grown men, they could act like it for once.  

Distracted, it registered too late, that his team was frozen in place with their hands up.  Bond was in the room.  A handgun pointed at Goodwin's head, definitely not Q-branch material.  

“He followed you,”  Goodwin hissed out.

"Yes, I gathered that.”  Q nudged his glasses up his face with a knuckle. “Did you even manage to stop sulking long enough to boot up the tracking program or did he completely surprise you?”

“When I get my hands…”

Bond interrupted Goodwin's threat.  “He does have quite the mouth on him.  At least I benefited from it last night.”

Goodwin's face turned red and he inhaled, but Bond shook his head and put his finger over his lips.  He addressed Q instead.  “What do you want? Talk before I put a bullet in between his eyes.”

“It would be an improvement,” Q said.

“Talk.”

“And we got on so well last night.”  

Bonds eyes flicked from mark to mark on Q’s body before he pointedly raised one blond eyebrow and replied in a voice as dry as sand.  “That was last night.  This is the morning.”

“Hmm.  So it is.”  Q adjusted his glasses once more, this time by the arm of the frames.  He pressed a hidden button.  His team let out shocked grunts of pain as they spasmed all around him and slid to the ground.

Bond swung his gun to Q.  “That wasn’t very nice.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“They won’t like you when they wake up,” Bond said, his eyes narrowed.  “I’m not sure I like you now.”

“Your loss.  They didn’t like me anyways.”  Q nudged the toe of the man closest to him.  “Remember, villain in training.  These are my goblins.”

Bond’s grip firmed on his gun at Q’s movement.  Q ignored the man aiming the dangerous end of a crap gun at him and proceeded to search for a clean shirt from his bag.  

“Show me your hands,” Bond ordered.

Q paused in his search for a shirt, but refused to fully obey Bond.  He’d go to his grave denying he had obeyed even one of Bonds orders.

“Show me your hands or I will shoot you.”

Q sighed and stood up, his hands by his side, one full of his shirt.  “There, see.  Harmless.”

“Drop the shirt.”

“No.”

“Drop it.”

Q frowned.  “You drop it.  I had a long night, if you don’t remember.  I’m tired and I’m putting this shirt on whether you like it or not.  So shoot me if you want to, but at least I’ll die with my shirt on.”

“You took out your whole team, so I’ll shoot you when I feel like it.”

Q blew a breath out of his mouth in frustration.  “Don’t worry about them.  They had it coming.  I low jacked them before we left.  M’s orders.”  Q tapped his glasses.  “I also put a tracker on you.”  

Bond’s hand dropped fractionally at the words ‘M’s orders.’

“M?  You’re MI6?”

Q tapped the side of his nose and winked.  He pulled the shirt on over his head and continued to ignore Bond’s presence as he tucked the monkey inside his clothes from the previous day and zipped the bag shut.  “Decidedly so.”  He glanced at his fallen team.  “Well, maybe not for long.”

“It’s going to take more than you and an incapacitated team to take me in.”  Bond shifted his stance becoming more braced and ready for a fight.

“I’m not here to take you in.  My orders were to find you.  I found you.  Good job, me.”

Bond’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “Was the fucking part of your orders.”

Q snorted and slipped his shoes on.  “No.”  He glanced up at Bond and pushed his hair out of his eyes.  “Is it always part of your orders?”

“No.”  

“Well then, call it a work perk.”  Q smiled.  He stood up, grabbed the handles of his bag and moved to exit the room.  Bond stepped back, allowing Q to exit, but he still kept his gun in hand.  Q halted with his hand on the doorknob.  “Oh, I was also supposed to deliver a message.  Care to hear it?”

“What’s the message?”  Bond asked, belligerently.

“Get your arse back to MI6, now.  And don’t bring back the equipment you currently have.”  Q sneered down at the pathetic handgun Bond was holding.

The corner of Bonds mouth lifted in what Q interpreted as a smile or the start of some giant back talking drivel.  He decided that he was done with back talking and left before Bond could get the last word in.


End file.
